Where Two or More are Gathered. . .

[I'm trying to write more about faith, and particularly the Church. This is a first go at this poem, I'm curious what people think. Does it hit to similar of note to the Honk if You're Polish?]

we talk about failed relationships
eating orange chicken and fried rice.

we pick out love songs
on old jukeboxes.

we share concerns about friends not present,
wonder out-loud where they are.

we sit, half-awake, in hardwood pews
staring down at words we’re trying to make sense of.

we fight about minutia,
throw hissy fits over grammar.

we give long hugs
help each other change flat-tires.

we hold hands and give thanks
for spaghetti dinners and garlic bread.

we have awkward conversations
with WWII veterans about “kids-today.”

we have potlucks,
share recipes, and eat casseroles.

we tell secrets we’re ashamed of,
the things we wanted to do, but didn’t,
the things we didn’t want to do, but did.

we aren’t perfect, but most are trying
some of us are trying to try
but not having too much success.

we meet You in each other
and hope others meet You in us.